


Heart of the Lioness

by nicotinedragon



Category: Invisible Inc. (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-14 20:19:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7188644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicotinedragon/pseuds/nicotinedragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 2066, illegal androids, a disgraced socialite, unscrupulous corporate executives, violent bounty hunters, and Invisible Inc. fight to track down the eponymous stolen diamond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Anatomy of a Plot

It was a cold morning on a March day in Paris, 2062, made all the colder by the execution of a woman by firing squad. At 0640, in the main courtyard if the Fort d’Ivry, a tall, strong woman stared at the gravel as her hands were bound behind a post. She looked up, twenty meters away in near disbelief at the squad of K&O soldiers. She wore an orange prison jumpsuit and her purple hair was done in long cornrows, a few had started to unravel.

 

She was Tenesha Jackson of Atlanta, twenty-two years old. She had two black eyes, a busted lip, and several bruises all throughout her body. She was to be executed for the crime of stealing a large diamond from Plastech. She and her team had been captured outside of Rome on their way to the airport, trying to scatter. Two had been captured, two had escaped.

 

“This is your last chance, Jackson.” A Plastech executive told her. In his hands was a blindfold, “Where is the stone?”

 

“Y’all ain’t going to try draining my brain?” She smiled painfully at the firing squad.

 

“That only works on humans, android. Therefore, only cooperation will save you.”

 

“Shit….” She smiled, “Y’all didn’t even know I was an android until you tried deprogramming me.”

 

“Roland Sunde was deactivated right here, yesterday.” He said, “Defying us will not bring him back, nor will it save you.”

 

“’Deactivated’? You trying to make yourself feel better calling it that? Killing me ain’t going to get your diamond back.”

 

“Speak your last words, android.” His shoes scuffed the gravel as he tied the blindfold over her eyes, blotting out the light for the last time.

 

“Hey!” She screamed at the firing squad and the witnesses, “If y’all got a message for the Devil, let me know now! I’m about to meet him!”

 

The mumbling of the priest was a helpless counterpoint to the crackling of five charge packs being loaded as the K&O soldiers charged their weapons.

 

The Plastech executive walked behind the men as the captain said, “Take your aim.”

 

The crash of rifle fire caused no ripple in the city aside from a flutter of pigeons.

 

The executive bowed slightly at his K&O counterpart, “Plastech appreciates K&O’s cooperation in this matter.”

 

“The bodies will be returned to Plastech for research and disposal.” The K&O executive ground his cigarette into the dirt, “You got your androids, but no stone.”

 

“It will turn up eventually.” The stone itself was an artificial pink-champagne rose-cut diamond that weighed about five hundred carets; not something easy to hide. He was confident; thieves often lacked sophistication. He hoped these thieves didn’t know what they were stealing and it would turn up in a pawn shop somewhere. Still, at least two were androids, and had taken the stone from the second most heavily guarded bank in western Asia, so he didn’t hold his breath.

 

“I’ll have Mathias take you to your jet.”

 

The Plastech executive had personally lost nothing with the theft of the stone, but he was looking at a less-than stellar evaluation. The theft of the Heart of the Lioness had launched one of the biggest manhunts Plastech had ever known, eclipsed only by the joint-venture between all of the major corps in the fifties and would only be matched again, ten years later, by another joint venture to bring down Invisible Inc.

 

And now their only leads were two dead, cold bodies being prepared for shipping back to Plastech territory.

 

They had been two wetware androids, illegal Zenith 6 models, manufactured in 2040 in the buildup before the resource wars. They passed for perfectly human, except their brains, which were quantum-based computers running a highly advanced life-support system and AI program. The majority of these androids were corporate soldiers. The rest were spies, assassins, house-staff, and prostitutes. Their production was banned in 2055 and an open-season bounty for them went live in 2058. By 2060, they were thought extinct.

 

Or so everyone thought.

 

* * *

 

It was a rainy day in Bavaria, mid-June, 2066. The Plastech liaison, working under the assumed name Jason Rosen, had spent the last three months in a dark room somewhere outside of Panama City and what he had to show for it were three slim dossiers. Off, they looked like small sheets of glass in a black frame. He checked into a boardinghouse called the Edelweiss, reserved only for high-ranking members of the major corps and their families. The rush of people made him dizzy and he spent most of his time locked in his room.

 

From that room he had sent for representatives from FTM and K&O.

 

Mathias Schmitt was the first to arrive at the Edelweiss, seven minutes early. He adjusted his tie as he stepped inside. Schmitt had, as usual, arrived under a false identity, one of twenty known only to his immediate colleges. Two years ago, he had angered a very dangerous man and took his job; it paid to be cautious. He had received a cable the previous day signed by the name Rosen, Schmitt’s codename for that particular twenty-one-day period.

 

“ _Herr Rosen, bitte?”_ he asked the receptionist.

 

“Room eight nineteen, sir. Are you expected?”

 

“Yes, of course.” Schmitt replied as he headed down the hall to the transporter. He walked down the hall to room eight nineteen and as he raised his hand to knock, an enormous tan hand wrapped around his wrist. Schmitt turned and stared at the steely-gray eyes of a man easily over two hundred centimeters one hundred thirty kilos worth of muscle. The eyes were intelligent; the face was as calm and cold as a stone wall. The man had fallen behind him as he passed an alcove five meters back.

 

Though the carpet was thin, Schmitt hadn’t heard this man sneaking up on him.

 

_“_ Looking for someone? _”_ The giant asked almost gently, in a somewhat English accent. His grip on Schmitt’s wrist did not slacken. Schmitt’s stomach turned as he finally recognize the giant as a mercenary belonging to a certain group of particularly…enthusiastic agents often hired by insurgents and rebels.

 

“I have an appointment with a certain liaison. Rosen. Jason Rosen.  I am Matthias Schmitt.”

 

Those stormy eyes narrowed in thought. Without breaking eye contact, the man knocked on the door with his free hand.

 

“ _Da?”_ a deep voice from inside the room asked.

 

“You have a visitor,” was all the mercenary said.

 

The door creeped open a little; it was dark in there. A ghost-white hand beckoned, “I have been expecting you. Come in.”

 

Finally, the man released Schmitt and turned back to his post.

 

“Do you always take these kind of precautions?” Schmitt asked, stepping inside. The only light came from the lit fireplace. Being used to the warm sunshine of Los Angeles, Schmitt sat beside the fire, removing his coat.  

 

“Of course. I am so sorry about this, my dear Matthias.”

 

“It’s fine; we can’t be too cautious these days.”

 

“We will wait for Arctur.” Rosen said, “I told him to come at eleven-fifteen, so that your arriving together would not upset my bodyguard.”

 

Schmitt smiled, thinking of what that giant of a man would do if nervous. There was a knock at the door. The liaison crossed the room and opened the door. The bodyguard was there with his hand completely encircling the arm of a tiny man with watery eyes. Felix Arctur from FTM.

 

“For the love of God, Rosen….”

 

Arctur crossed the room and shook hands with the other two men. He wore a crumpled suit of a poor cut, which he also wore poorly.

 

Being used to the tropic heat of Panama, Rosen had turned the heat full blast in the room. Coming from a colder climate, the FTM representative removed his jacket.

 

Rosen sat at a high-backed chair in front of a desk. He leaned over it, folding his hands in front of his face. The flickering firelight made his face look gaunt and cadaverous and reflected in his dark sunglasses.

 

“We have reached a position where the prime aim of our cause, to exterminate the last reminants of PEIA, has become virtually impossible through traditional means.” Rosen explained.

 

He continued, “PEIA agents are everywhere, all working within and without the corperations. They have squealers, turncoats, and backsliders. They seem to know, within days, what our plans are, who our personnel are.

 

“Olivia Gladstone is the keystone of their operation; without her, the entire thing would fall apart. There is only one way to bring PEIA, or whatever form it has now taken, to heel permanently. She must be killed.”

 

That much was obvious, there had never been any question as to what to do about Olivia Gladstone; the question was how it was to be done.

 

“There is one way to bypass her entire network of spies and agents, strip her of her advantages. We hire an outsider to infiltrate.”

 

Schmitt raised a finger, “We’ve tried that for years. Her counterintelligence is phenomenal.”

 

Rosen nodded, “Gladstone would know of any potential outsider dangerous to her. Therefore, an unknown agent is hardly necessary or even desirable. We dangle bait in front of her, one too irresistible to turn away.”

 

“One of the professional assassins?”

 

“A true professional; a man that would only work for money, a lot of money.”

 

Arctur tilted his head and reached the for the dossiers, “Whom shall we hire?”

 

Rosen placed his hand over Arctur. The smaller man flinched and tried to pull away, Rosen’s hands were icy cold, but Rosen’s grip remained, “Allow me to worry about that, gentlemen. Security is fundamental to the whole idea. The more people know a secret, the less sure that secret becomes. The fewer that know the better. I would rather not put the life of such a man in danger gratuitously by unnecessarily informing others of his existence. “

 

He let go of Arctur, who snatched his hand back, bleached white, and cradled it.

 

“I have summoned you both because I am absolutely convinced of your loyalty to the freedom of capitalism and your ability to keep a secret. Moreover, I do not feel Plastech ought to carry the entire financial burden itself, as this is a cause that benefits us all.”

 

The room was silent save for rain on the window and the crackling of the fireplace.

 

Rosen continued, “Obviously, such men are hard to find; the best ones do not advertise. That is why I have spent the last few months in Panama looking for our professional mercenary.”

 

Arctur shrugged, “Months? Rosen, gunslingers are a dime a dozen, surely….”

 

Schmitt interrupted him, “Agent one! Tossed off a six-story roof. Agent two! Knocked unconscious when one of her agents kicked a door into his face. Agent three! Electrocuted to death with a souped-up neural disrupter. Agent Four! They just shot him, Arctur. She has sent more agents back in body bags than anybody dares to admit. We need someone that can infiltrate the group and take out as many PEIA agents as he can find, then leave without a trace. We need someone…untouchable.”

 

“You know how executive officers are; they will wish to know things simply for the sake of knowing them. They cannot help us, and each one can put the entire operation in jeopardy with one careless word,” Rosen said to the fire.

 

Arctur looked up from the dossier, “You are suggesting we do this alone?”

 

Schmitt said, “If we wait to get the boards of every major corps approval, there’s no doubt Gladstone will figure out what we’re meeting about and all the details and the entire idea is shot.”

 

“Where are we going to get that kind of money?”

 

Schmitt shot Arctur a condescending look, “Money? What kind of executive are you? You can get the money.”

 

Rosen slid the dossiers across the desk, “These are the three I have chosen. These are the only copies and they will be deleted and the dossiers themselves scrambled by midnight tomorrow. You will have to share.”

 

Schmitt took one and tapped it on, reading quietly. Arctur did the same. Rosen, having wrote the reports himself, watched the fire.

 

Schmitt finished reading first, “That’s it?”

 

“The best men do not advertise themselves, my dear Schmitt. Try this one.” Rosen handed him another dossier.

 

Arctur traded with Schmitt, “Well, it is a small market.”

 

Schmitt bit his lip, “This one stands head and shoulders above the other two.”

 

Rosen took the dossiers, “Yes, I thought so, too.”  

 

* * *

 

Later that night, Rosen leaned back, staring at the door, talking on the phone to the man he intended to hire for a separate job.

 

“If that meatbag gorilla is not out of the alcove in fifteen seconds I am leaving.”

 

Rosen called his bodyguard, “Leave us; he is expected.”

 

“As you wish, governor.”  The line went dead.

 

The cyborg entered, ignoring the chairs.

 

“Alex Sharp.” Rosen offered his hand. Sharp didn’t take it. If Rosen was offended by this, he didn’t show it. He sat down behind the desk, “I know who you are, so I ought to introduce myself. I am Jason Rosen-“ “No, you are not. Jason Rosen is complete fiction.”

 

Rosen was taken aback, but he didn’t show it aside from a slight twitch.

 

“You are, however, chief of security operations for Plastech. I know who you are and you know who I am. I operate for money; you operate for ideals someone put in your head a long time ago. We do not need to fence.”

 

“Very well, Mr. Sharp. Since you have read all available files, I will not bore you with motivations. Four years ago, a very large diamond was stolen from Plastech. It has now surfaced in Seattle, in a FTM Exclusivity Zone. I need that stone.”

 

“Ah, the Heart of the Lioness. I remember that case.”

 

Rosen nodded.

 

“So, it was more than an artificial diamond; I had wondered about that. There aren’t many machines that can read a 5D data crystal.”

 

“Very few know the true worth of that stone. I need it back, completely intact”

 

“It is worth enough just as an ordinary diamond; more than enough to transform the life of anybody who decided to sell it on the diamond market, legitimately or otherwise. Why hire a bounty hunter to retrieve it instead of simply buying it off of those that do not know its worth?”

 

“There are unincorporated individuals that know the true worth of that stone and would use it for their own ends. I need it retrieved before they can get a hold of it. The stone must be retrieved intact. There is no bounty for it in pieces. I do not care what you have to do in order to retrieve it.”

 

“Intact.”

 

“Can it be done?”

 

“You will have your stone, Mr. Rosen, in its entirety.”

 

“I expect nothing less,” Rosen pushed a dossier to Sharp, “I had tracked the diamond down to a simpleton living in Seattle and sent an assassin to retrieve it. Both the assassin and the stone have gone missing. I will not keep you.”


	2. Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?

 

Shalem 11 sat down in the briefing room five minutes early. Central was waiting with Monst3r on call.

 

“Bright and early, I see,” she remarked.

 

Monst3r looked down his nose at Shalem, as he often did with agents.

 

Central stared at her newest agent for a moment, then looked away, wondering if she had made the worst decision of her career. 

 

It wasn’t every day a top-notch assassin applies for a job at your organization. Incognita had given him a pass; there was nothing to suggest he was a corporate plant. Even then, she had more than enough in place for that sort of thing.

 

Still, he made her nervous.

 

Shalem 11 had brought only a few things with him to Invisible Inc., just enough to furnish the small room most agents kept at headquarters for long missions, and nothing personal. Not that he kept a lot of momentos.

 

Dr. Pedler came second, right on time. Shalem was positive he was an android at first glance; there was nothing outwardly human about him; all shining metal and hard edges. He had bright yellow, lamp-like lights in place of eyes set deep behind a skull-like mask. His joints were servo-motors that made electric hissing noises as he moved. His steps were heavy and slow.

 

“Scared?” he asked, in a deeply modulated and mechanical voice.

 

Shalem raised an eyebrow, “I’ve seen worse.”

 

“Despite my appearances, I am as human as you. My brains are just like yours, except certain weaknesses have been removed.”  

 

Dr. Pedler offered his hand.

 

Shalem didn’t trust it not to crush his own. Still, he didn’t want to appear afraid, so he took it, squeezing hard.  The not-robot was gentle.

 

“Shalem 11. It is a pleasure.”

 

“Dr. Kit Pedler. I look forward to working with someone with such a reputation.”

 

Everyone could hear Internationale’s voice through the door as she came down the hallway, “Violence, deprivation, premature death, and sexual violence are structural aspects of an economic system which requires that some work and others do not, some receive care and others do not and some survive and-“ “-There is no better system than capitalism. Anything else would be even worse,” a rough, low voice cut her off.

 

Decker entered first, bringing in the smell of cigarettes and whiskey. He didn’t acknowledge anyone as he sat in a corner and folded on himself, clearly annoyed by his companion, who thankfully went quiet as she entered.

 

She brightened as she saw Shalem, “You must be Shalem 11! I’m Internationale!”

 

She offered her hand. Shalem tried to take it gingerly, but her hand was strong and her grip firm.

 

“Enchanted,” Shalem smiled charmingly at her.  She was beautiful, sure, but she looked as fiery as her hair.  He remembered his mission and pushed the thought out of his head.

 

Her companion, Decker, tipped his hat at him, “Name’s Decker. No need to introduce yourself; everyone knows who you are.”

 

His face was hashed out in red and white and he hid under his coat and hat. Shalem thought the name sounded familiar.

 

“Ahem,” Central sat at her desk, “The team is assembled and introductions have been made. Monst3r, please explain the mission.”

 

“Yes. Do you remember that bank heist in Tehran back in 2062?”

 

“We are vaguely familiar, yes.”

 

“Well, the biggest part of the heist wasn’t the money, though that was considerable, it was the loot that was stolen with it. Mostly jewels of considerable worth but…. the biggest prize by far was this particular jem, stolen from one of Plastech’s vaults.”

 

Monst3r’s face minimized to a corner of the screen to show a large pink diamond, “The Heart of the Lioness. Artificial, but flawless, weighing in at about 500 carets. Almost everything was recovered when Plastech got two of the thieves, but this stone got away, along with the other two. I got a tip from one of my contacts that the diamond has turned up again in Seattle, FTM territory. Plastech desperately wants it back and I’m sure they’ll pay out the nose for it. Half is yours for the recovery of the intact stone.”

 

“Half?” Central narrowed her eyes.

 

Monst3r raised his hands, “You wouldn’t get anything if I hadn’t told you about it first.”

 

“Fair enough. Where is the stone?”

 

“Nobody knows right now, but…a man by name of Isodore Mercer has been connected to the theft. He was mentally disabled, no family or friends to speak of. He was living alone as a janitor for one of FTM’s regional facilities. The complex noticed he was missing when his checking account drained and cleaners came in to kick him out of the apartment. They saw the blood on the floor and called for an investigation. He was found murdered, stuffed in a trunk, with his intestines ripped out. I’ll….spare you the visuals.”

 

“Thank you, Monst3r. What does this man have to do with the theft of the diamond?”

 

“I wouldn’t have normally cared about it except the last man seen by the security feeds leaving the apartment recently became rather flush with credits. Leon Globlocnik, small-time assassin, unincorporated.  Nobody, really, except when I looked into it, I found that Isodore Mercer, the victim, was complete fiction. A botched job, really, any amateur could have exposed him- ““-Monst3r…. -“- Right….Isodore Mercer didn’t exist until the Tehran Heist.”

 

“And why would Globlocnik, a small-time crook, get paid so handsomely for killing a simple janitor?”

 

“Exactly. I believe he might be able to lead you to the diamond.”

 

* * *

 

 

Decker and Dr. Pedler stood in a tiny apartment in Belltown, a neighborhood in Seattle. The FTM law enforcement had already left for the day without so much as a guard standing present. There was little use to investigating the case for the moment; Mercer hadn’t left much upon his death and with no family or friends to pay for an investigation, the case would likely be closed within a few weeks. His things would be auctioned off to pay the rent owed to the apartment complex.

 

Decker spoke into his watch, recording notes, with a handkerchief pressed into his face. He recorded the date and the address in a flat, impersonal voice, “Isodore Mercer, aged twenty-six, janitor for FTM regional facility. Found stuffed in a trunk with his guts ripped out. God, he fucking stinks.”

 

“His abdomen cut length-wise and opened seven centimeters.” Dr. Pedler added, staring down at the body, “Time of death…oh, I’d say about two weeks ago?”

 

Isodore Mercer himself lay in a fetal position, conforming to the trunk that barely contained him. It was hard to tell what he had looked like in life aside from fair-skinned and dark-haired. His mouth and eyes were wide open in shock and pain and his arms seemed to cradle his open wound. Flies buzzed around his mouth and landed on his open eyes. He dressed plainly, with heavy work boots and sturdy canvas pants. His shirt was soaked with blood that had since turned from red to brown to green in some places.

 

The apartment was roughly sixteen square meters; Isodore had no bed; he slept on a couch. The shower was a booth beside the kitchen, the toilet tucked into a closet. There was one sink in the kitchenette.

 

Wanting to look at something other than a bloated corpse, Decker looked around. He kept his left wrist raised to record, “Subject was unincorporated and likely impoverished. No sign of habitual drug use, gambling, or solicitation. Appears to have kept mostly to himself. Subject had a strange fascination with origami and dreams….” 

 

Origami figures littered the place by the thousands in every color and every kind of paper imaginable. A rainbow assortment of cranes, unicorns, spiders, cups, rabbits, flowers, and butterflies occupied every level surface. The bookcases were filled with antique books about oneirology and dream interpretation. He recognized some books (real books!) written by Freud and Jung.

 

“I can see where all his money went….” Decker said, lowly.

 

Dr. Pedler interrupted, “Subject was an android. Wetware, so likely Lebel Industries. I’m guessing Zenith 6 model. Very illegal.”

 

Decker looked away from a blue unicorn to ask, “How?”

 

“Subject is the right age, and the brains would have liquefied by now.”

 

“Aren’t androids supposed to be smart?”

 

Dr. Pedler’s lamp-eyes blinked slowly, “Wetware androids degrade mentally over time without regular maintenance, especially to the immune and nervous systems. As they degrade, they begin to exhibit disordered thinking and strange obsessions.”

 

“Lebel Industries was taken over in 2055,” Decker said, “he’d be dead way sooner than this.”

 

“I am aware.”

 

“How do you know so much about androids?”

 

“After I lost my business, I spent much of my time trying to keep Zenith models alive without the support of their parent company, which went under in 2055. The bounty on them took more of them than their expiration date.”

 

Decker’s face went from disbelieving contempt to pity, “The fifties were very hard on you.”

 

“The fifties were hard on everyone.” Dr. Pedler replied pointedly.

 

“Well, the assassin didn’t break the lock, and the locks here are automatic.”

 

“So, the assassin was allowed in.”

 

“Well, guy wasn’t the brightest, “Decker took an unmarked book from the shelf. Flipping through it, he said, impressed, “Huh, Isodore here kept a diary. Handwritten. Not many people can still do that.”

 

Dr. Pedler’s eyes narrowed in mild annoyance. So, Decker could write with his hands. Big deal. His letters were beautiful, but often illegible to whoever wasn’t familiar with handwriting, a dead art, much less cursive. And forget calligraphy. Why learn how to do what one could do faster with graphics design programs?

 

Decker flipped to the last page, the handwriting was large and child-like, but legible, “ _I haff a headake from the party. Leon invited me to go with him after werk to the bar to drink wisky. I dont like to drink wisky but they sed we will have lots of fun. We played games with me doing a dance on the bar with a lampshade on my hed and everyone laffing. Joe said Dorys a card when hes potted. I think that meens he likes me. We have good times and I wish I was still smart like my best frends Joe and Leon._

_“I dont remember how the party was over but they asked me to go round the corner to see if it was raining and wen I came bak there was nobody their. Maybe they went to find me. I looked for them all over till it was late but I got lost and I felt bad at myself for getting lost cuz I used to go up and down all sorts of places a hundrid times and not get lost like I did._

_“Then I dont remember so good but Mrs Flynn says a nice poleeseman brot me back home.”_

“Well, shit,” Decker remarked, “You poor fucking bastard….”

“Take it,” Dr. Pedler said. “It might offer some insight. You’re probably one of the few that can even read it.”

 

Decker pocketed the diary, “How does a man like Mercer get a diamond the size of your fist? And hold on to it for four years, no less?”

 

“I don’t believe he was always so simple-minded. Regardless of his origin, he seems to have knowingly or unknowingly been hiding the diamond for someone.”  

 

“Did that someone decide they wanted it back all of a sudden?”

 

“Perhaps.”

 

* * *

 

 

Meanwhile, on the other side of Seattle, in Beacon Hill, Internationale and Shalem found their assassin.

 

“I’ll approach and distract him,” Internationale said, “you get him from behind.”

 

“Sure.”

 

“With your disrupter.”

 

“I think he deserves something a little harder.”

 

“Just remember that we can’t get a brain scan if the target is dead.” Internationale reminded him.

 

“I am aware.”

 

Leon Globlocnik stood outside an upscale bar, smoking a cigarette. He was short, yet heavily built, with a great deal of poorly-drawn tattoos.

 

Internationale approached him, “Excuse me.”

 

Globlocnik smiled, eyeing her. “Evening, sweetheart.”

 

His smile was studded with silver piercings he bit habitually.

 

“May I borrow your phone? Mine’s dead.” She smiled apologetically.

 

Globlocnik sucked his teeth, looking away with a shy smile. He looked back at her, offering his phone.

 

“Be careful; I just got it.”  

 

“This is nice…,” Internationale pretended to struggle with turning it on.

 

“Newest model. Very expensive.” He reached over and turned it on.

 

Shalem tapped him on the shoulder. Globlocnik had just began to register surprise when the buttstock of a custom-built rifle smashed into his temple. He dropped.

 

Internationale spread her hands at Shalem.

 

“Didn’t kill him,” he replied.

 

Internationale gave a disgusted sigh as she helped move him someplace where they wouldn’t be interrupted by a FTM patrol. They laid him out in the alleyway, behind the dumpsters. Shalem watched the street with his rifle at the ready.

 

“Why didn’t you use the disrupter?” She asked as she dumped Globlocnik’s head on a trashbag full of expired food. She placed her hands on his chest in case he woke up early. Blood from his forehead dribbled into the trash.

 

“Internationale, he brutally and illegally murdered a mentally handicapped man for a rock. He is the opposite of everything you value. I hit him because I don’t like him.”

 

“I know that, but you can’t run a brain scan on a dead man.”

 

“He’ll live.”

 

“Starting the scan now,” Central said, “No memetic training. Seems amateur. Though the buttstroke to the head has scrambled some neurons; it’ll take some sorting out.”

 

While Incognita worked, Internationale called back to Shalem, “Do you solve all your problems with violence?”

 

“If the mood strikes me.”

 

“A neural disrupter would have caused less trouble.”

 

“You’ll live longer in this line of work if you don’t show so much kindness to your enemies.”

 

“I think a little mercy goes a long way.”

 

“To coming back to bite you.”

 

“Why did you join Invisible anyway?”

 

Shalem visibly stiffened, “It’s…personal.”

 

“Are you a plant or did you just get lonely?”

 

“Would I tell you in either case?”

 

“If you are a plant, just know your fancy reputation won’t save you.”

 

“How I earned my ‘fancy reputation’ will.”

 

Her voice was short, “Heard that one before. I don’t know who handles spies in our ranks, but…we really are a terrible group to fuck over. Just so you know.”

 

Central broke into the conversation with, “Incognita’s recovered a name; Idris Harvey. A diamond dealer in London. Globlocnik sold him the diamond for a cool million credits. Rather cheap if you ask me. I say we stop in to visit.”

 

 


	3. Acres of Diamonds

 

Leon sat up, covered in trash, gagging as he wiped bits of rotten food off of himself. He rubbed his head painfully, trying to remember what happened.

 

That redhead….her friend bashed him in the face for some reason. Figures, he had money now, more than enough for the life of a janitor. Panicked, he searched himself all over. Nothing missing. He still had his phone.

 

He cursed to himself for showing off his wealth. Checking for loose teeth with his tongue, he resolved to make better friends. How had they known about him? He wondered if they were looking for revenge over what he did to Mercer. He didn’t like doing that to poor Dory, but when he showed Leon that diamond…well, times are hard, right?

 

“Had too much to drink?” A deep voice snapped Leon’s attention to the present.

 

Leon looked up at the voice to see a glowing red eye staring down at him, “Nah, just a muh….Oh, shit.”

 

Leon’s already pale face blanched even further as he recognized the bounty hunter.

 

“You know who I am?”

 

Leon nodded, his mouth open in awe, “I do.”

 

This seemed to satisfy him, “You are Leon Globlocnik. Unincorporated assassin. You illegally murdered a man.”

 

“Hey, hey, whoever paid you to find me, I can pay you off.” Did Dory have some powerful friends he wasn’t tracking? Impossible.

 

“I seriously doubt that, but you are not my target. Where is the stone?”

 

Leon’s shoulders noticeably dropped as he relaxed, “What stone?”

 

Sharp replied by stepping on Leon’s ankle and applying pressure.

 

“ _Shitshitshit…okay, okay,_ you mean the diamond?” He struggled to get his foot free, but Sharp simply applied even more pressure until the popping of joints caused Leon to stop struggling. He twitched and whimpered as he tried to endure the pain.

 

“Where is it?”

 

“I already sold it, okay?!”

 

Sharp’s eyes narrowed, “To whom?”

 

“A dealer from London…,” Sharp applied more pressure to Leon’s ankle, “ _Idris Harvey!”_

 

“Where can I find him?”

                                                                                                                                                                         

“H-hard to say; he doesn’t advertise.”

 

Sharp narrowed his eyes and moved to crush Leon’s ankle.

 

“What he does isn’t exactly legal, you know!”

 

“I’m not looking for ‘legal’, I am looking for a large diamond you stole off a janitor.”

 

“I contacted him through subnet, b-but I think he runs a wholesale diamond exchange in Hatton Garden in London. Brilliant Earth.”

 

“Thank you.” Sharp removed his foot. Leon clutched at it, wincing.

 

“S-So, can I go? I’d like to have this looked at….” Leon nervously pointed to the still-bleeding gash on his temple.

 

“No,” Sharp replied, picking Leon Globlocnik up by his temples. He smashed his head against the wall, crushing his skull. Leon shuddered once and was still.

 

The cyborg wiped his hand on his coat and stepped out of the alleyway.

 

* * *

 

 

Internationale turned her scarf up around her face, feeling out of place and in enemy territory. In a way, she was: Hatton Garden had long been known as London’s jewelry quarter. The suits the men wore here likely cost more than the combined worth of her hometown. Shalem, on the other hand, blended in perfectly. He nodded politely at the people that recognized him. Internationale noticed that people made way for them on the sidewalk, even without the rifle on his back.

 

“Come here often?” She asked pointedly.

 

“Occasionally,” he admitted, “I bought a pair of cufflinks here, once. I’m sure you wouldn’t know the place.”  

 

“I have better things to spend my money on. This place is disgusting,” she muttered, “and diamonds are the worst.”

 

“Oh? And here I was thinking of getting you an engagement ring here,” Shalem replied sarcastically.

 

“Marriage is an inherently unequal institution.”

 

“Kind of a downer, aren’t you?”

 

Idris Harvey worked at a shop called Brilliant Earth, on the first floor of a six story department building. There was little to advertise, just large windows showing off the merchandise and a large sign.

 

The shop was comparatively small, yet tastefully decorated in subdued, dark woods. The jewelry cases shone brilliantly under bright lights and the jewelry sparkled like fire. A tall, thin Rastafarian in a sharp suit stood behind the counter, just out of the direct light. His dreadlocks were tied back and hung down to his waist. He wore dark sunglasses and a short beard.

 

“Greetings,” the man bowed slightly. He had a Jamaican accent.

 

“Hello.” Internationale said politely, “We’re looking for a man named Idris Harvey.”

 

“You have found him. How may I help you?” When he spoke, he showed his unnaturally long canine teeth.

 

Shalem walked to the counter, placing his hands on it, “Do you know a Leon Globlocnik?”

 

Internationale gave Shalem a disbelieving look that quickly turned sharp. She pressed her lips together and stared down at the diamonds angrily.

 

Harvey shook his head and clicked his tongue, “I do not.”

 

“Two weeks ago, he murdered a man in Seattle and stole a large diamond. He says he sold it to you.”

 

“I buy and sell many diamonds, brother, you’ll have to be more specific.”

 

“You’d remember this one. Five hundred carets, champagne-rose.”

 

Harvey tilted his head, “With an antique shape; rose cut?”

 

“So, you do know what I’m talking about.”

 

Harvey straightened his back, “The Heart of the Lioness is a famous lost diamond…I am familiar, but I do not have the stone.”

 

“We already know you paid Globlocnik a million credits for the stone. We asked him personally.”

 

“…What do you know about the Heart of the Lioness?”

 

“I know people would pay a lot more than a million credits to have it back.”

 

“Stay away from the heart, i-dren,” Harvey placed his hands on the counter, glaring at the both of them, “it is not for you. The rightful owner of the stone is Rachel Label.”

 

“The socialite author?” Internationale raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

 

Shalem added, “And the heiress of the defunct Label Industries. It was taken over by Plastech almost ten years ago.”

 

“Those downpressers took what is hers. The thieves were going to give it back.”

 

“The Tehran Heist? She was behind it?” Internationale asked.

 

“The heist went bad, but one of the thieves managed to keep the diamond.”

 

“One of them being Isodore Mercer? He’s dead now,” Shalem said, “Globlocnik killed him.”

 

Harvey put a hand to his chest and stumbled back as if hit, “Isodore was killed?”

 

“By the very man you bought the stone from.” Shalem smiled nastily, “It was an illegal killing, so FTM isn’t going to be pleased.”

 

Harvey pointed at Shalem, “Don’t put that evil on me, brother, I didn’t send a killer after Isodore. He was a brother to me. The corps must have found him before I did.”

 

“So, you knew him, too?”

 

“Isodore was already sick and getting sicker by the time he stole the diamond. I spent the last four years trying to track him down before it was too late. The stone you seek is not here and now you tell me I’ve lost yet another brother. I must ask you to leave.”

 

Shalem nodded politely to Harvey, “Thank you for your time.”

 

As they walked down the street, Internatonale said, “Why even talk to him? We know he has the stone. Now, he’ll be ready for us when we come back.”

 

“I was curious, all right? I don’t think Central’s fence is telling the entire truth about it.”

 

“Why didn’t Mercer turn the stone over to the heiress if that was the plan?”

 

“Do you remember the lengths Plastech went to get the stone back? He had to lay low or risk getting caught, or worse, getting his employer caught.”

 

“And how does Harvey know so much about the Heist?”

 

“Because he was one of the thieves, obviously. That explains why he got into diamonds.”

 

“…This entire thing stinks. Let’s just get the stone to the corps and be done with it. Harvey can steal it again if he wants it so bad. I hate diamonds.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

That night, the two agents teleported into the sixth floor, the one without night shift security, being a simple cubical farm.

 

Out of the corner of their eyes, the Operator transmitted a single line of text: CQ CQ CQ DE OP GV MVE 2 TGT K

 

Translation, “Calling anyone, this is the Operator. I have good visual on you. Move to target. I am listening for any response.”

 

Internationale sent back, “OP DE INL WILCO KN”

 

Or: “Operator, this is International, I have received your instructions and am complying with your order. I am listening for a response only from The Operator.”

 

“GC INL OP AR OP SK”

 

“Internationale, I have received your last transmission satisfactorily. This is the Operator. This is the end of my transmission to you and no answer is required or expected.”

 

Once all the abbreviations and procedure words were understood, messages could be sent back and forth quickly and efficiently with almost no common language needed. The Operator was an enigma that only communicated with the agents this way. They had never transmitted any message that indicated a personality.

 

Internationale wondered about the Operator on occasion. Sometimes, she imagined them as a cool hacker or tough military genius. Sometimes, she imagined them as an ugly, socially awkward loner. Sometimes, she wondered if it was even one person, or another agent she saw every day.

 

She stepped into the transporter with Shalem and waited for Incognita to hack it and transport them to the basement.

 

While they waited, Shalem asked, “So, who is the Operator anyway?”

 

“Nobody knows. Central told me they’re someone that likes their privacy, but I think she wanted me to butt out. They could even be a lot of different people or another AI like Incognita. Who knows?”

 

“Just as well, I suppose. If they knew us and we knew them, it might affect how we operated. Best to keep it impersonal.”  

 

The floor sparkled and the two of them were transported to the basement.

 

“I’m getting a strange reading.” Internationale reflexively put her hand over her headphones. She looked up, “Right above us. A cyborg, I think. Very heavily augmented.”

 

“Then let’s get out of here before they cause us trouble.”

 

“Agreed.”

 

Central cut in through their earpieces, “I know we’re only after one diamond, but feel free to liberate any more that catch your fancy.”

 

“Most of these are probably stolen and they’re all mined off the backs of almost-literal slaves,” Internationale told herself under her breath.

 

“So, let’s keep the cycle of theft going, shall we?”

 

The two agents took cover behind the safes while the Operator and Incognita made quick work of the locks. The basement looked like a bank; numerous vaults lined up along a hallway.

 

Harvey’s particular vault was guarded by the standard lethal lasers. The generator hummed ominously behind the grid. Incognita made quick work of both, along with the locks in the drawers containing the diamonds. Quickly, one working clockwise, the other counter, the two agents began stuffing as many stones as they could in their pockets.

 

The operator warned them with a message that translated, “All agents, be advised, touching the contents of the safes has triggered a silent alarm; be prepared for resistance.”  

 

“Have you found the heart yet?” Internationale asked.

 

“Still loo”-“-Perhaps I can help you find something?” Idris Harvey stood behind the laser grid, mindful of what would happen if it cut back on. Shalem brought up his rifle to engage, but Harvey ducked back behind a wall.

 

“The heart is not mine to give, nor yours to steal, I-dren.”

 

“Keep looking,” Shalem told Internationale, “If he moves out from that wall, I got him.”

 

Internationale nodded and kept looking.

 

Shalem began to slowly side-step, keeping his rifle trained on the corner.

 

Internationale whispered, “You don’t have to kill him, you know.”

 

“For you, Internationale, I’ll try not to.”

 

He was only visible for a split second, and even then, only his arm was exposed. Shalem got a shot off before he dropped his rifle, clutching his arm. A dagger embedded itself into the wall behind him.

 

He cursed in Arabic as his blood dripped onto the floor.

 

Harvey jumped out behind the wall to point to fire off a handcannon. Internationale grabbed Shalem by the waist and threw him behind the vaults before he could get hit.

 

“He just _ruined_ a very expensive suit…,” he growled.

 

“We got bigger problems,” Internationale grumbled, “We need to get out of here.”

 

Harvey’s feet clicked on the floor as he walked. Internationale was ready with a disrupter right as Harvey turned the corner. She grabbed him around the neck and tossed him to the floor. As she tried to bring her disrupter down on his chest, he kicked her legs out and she fell on him.

 

Harvey grabbed her shoulders and rolled them so he was on top. Shalem bashed the butt of his rifle into Harvey’s face, knocking him off. Internationale got to her feet, grabbed Shalem around the arm, and ran.

 

The laser barrier kicked on the second both agents passed it, trapping Harvey inside the vault. The two agents jumped into the transport and slammed the door.

 

“Why didn’t you let me finish him?” Shalem slung his rifle across his back and cradled his bleeding arm.

 

“No need,” Internationale pulled the Heart of the Lioness out of her pocket. Even in the low light, it sparkled in her hands, “See? Nobody has to die.”

 

“You do have an eye for the finer things, don’t you, comrade?”

 

“Don’t patronize me;” she glared at him as the transporter activated, “this is just work ethic.”

 

“Hm,” Shalem smiled, “For someone that disregards the finer things in life, you have impeccable taste. Let me see it.”

 

“Please, it could be pebbles I’m stealing.” She dropped it into his hand, “One of these days you’re going to learn there are more valuable things than diamonds.”  

 

 


	4. Anatomy of a Manhunt

Harvey scowled as he disabled the laser field and let himself out. Millions of credits worth of diamonds, gone. And with it, the heart.

All of the other jewels he had insured; he wasn’t worried. But the heart was irreplaceable and priceless.

Rae would not be pleased. He wasn’t pleased with himself; not moving that stone had been as big a mistake as perhaps moving it. People, corps people, had been circling that diamond for years, and now they had it back.

It had been too easy, tricking that thug into giving the diamond for a pittance; telling him it was much cheaper moissanite dyed pink. He had failed to find the diamond in time and now it was gone and Isodore, Tenisha, and Roland had all died for nothing. He was alone.

So, when he saw a giant of a cyborg in his shop after hours, it just seemed like icing on the cake.

He hid his handcannon and knife in his belt, “If you are looking for the Heart of the Lioness, Shalem 11 and a redheaded woman beat you to it, man.”

Sharp turned slowly to Harvey, “Shalem 11 works alone as an assassin. Why would he steal a diamond?”

“Why would anybody steal a diamond the size of your fist?”

“Forgive me; but I am having a hard time believing you.”

Idris clicked his tongue, “You can check yourself, man. The stone is not here. Shalem 11 and a redheaded woman snatched it.”

“I shall.” Sharp started to walk toward the vault.

As he passed Idris, the Rastafarian stopped him, raising a hand, “What do you know about that diamond?”

“Do you know who I am?”

“You’re a human being.”

Sharp narrowed his eyes, “I am more than a human being.”

“If it’s ascension you’re after, you’re best off turning that diamond over to its rightful owner.”

“I don’t consider obsolete androids masquerading as meatbags my brethren and Plastech pays better than novelists.”

Because it had been a terrible day, and Idris was in a terrible mood with terrible company, he drew his knife and jammed it into Sharp’s chest.

Sharp stumbled back, somewhat stunned, staring at the knife in his chest. He tilted his head and gave a condescending look to Idris. He yanked out the blade, completely dry, and offered it back by its handle, “Care to try again?”

“I’ll pass.” Idris said evenly, trying to take his knife back.

Sharp grabbed his open wrist and began squeezing, “Interesting augment you have….”

Idris tried to wrestle his arm back to no avail. He grit his teeth as he tried to remain stoic.

Sharp continued, “Now, you said Shalem 11 is working for or with someone. Tell me about that woman he was with….”

 

* * *

 

Meanwhile, at the headquarters, Central played with the diamond in her hand while she spoke with Monst3r. Dr. Pedler and Decker sat together, trying to glean intelligence from Mercer’s diary, while Internationale and Shalem sat with a few chairs between them.

“We have the stone.” Shalem said, “Why are you bothering with that?”

Decker shot Shalem a nasty look, “You’re not curious as to how Mercer got it?”

“Not particularly. He was part of the heist.”

“Obviously. But why?”

The large screen at the front of the meeting room flashed with a call from Monst3r. Central quieted the agents as she took the call.

“I take it you’ve got the diamond.”

Central held it up in her hands, letting it catch the light.  

“It is a rather gorgeous stone, isn’t it?”

“Awful lot of trouble for a rock.” She palmed it and folded her arms.

“I think it suits you.”

“Credit would suit me more.”

“I’ve gotten a hold of one of my Plastech contacts, they’ve agreed to meet you in Berlin. You give them the stone and you get your half of the bounty. They’re willing to pay ten million credits for it.”

Central squeezed the stone, narrowing her eyes, “Considering we’re the ones risking our necks, I’d say we deserve more than half.”

“You can’t move that diamond without me unless you want corporate interests and who-knows-else coming down on you. Think of this as a little…service charge.”

“Blood sucker.”

Monst3r smiled, “Wrong agent. Here are the details for the little pick-up. You know corporate types; come prepared.”

Shalem raised an eyebrow.

Central turned to her agents, “You heard the man. Internationale and Dr. Pedler. You’ll be the ones to turn over the diamond.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Of course.”

“Shalem and Decker, you will be long-range support and close support respectively. Stay hidden and don’t fire unless fired upon or to protect the others, am I clear?”

“Fair enough.”

“As you wish, ma’am.”

“This should be an easy hand-off, if Plastech plays by the rules, but be prepared for anything. It wouldn’t be the first time someone’s tried to pull a fast one on us.”

* * *

 

That night, after Shalem was sure everyone had gone to bed (and Decker had vanished to some dive bar), he walked down the street and called his employer.

“Report.”

Shalem spoke quietly as he walked, avoiding the streetlights, “Gladstone wants to turn the diamond over to Plastech.”

“In Berlin. I am aware and arranging the meeting.”

“Her fence calls himself Monst3r, with a three instead of a ‘e’. I think he’s one of hers.” Shalem kept his back to the walls and his head on a swivel as he travelled along alleyways and quiet streets. To say infiltrating Invisible Inc. was dangerous was the understatement of the century. It would be foolish to think he wasn’t being followed.

“…This is a problem. Monst3r will not be easy to remove, nor is it entirely wise to do so. Good fences are hard to come by and I don’t trust that damned cat.”

Shalem was well aware of Shopcat’s tricks, “Makes two of us. I wouldn’t be surprised if Monst3r’s the one funneling intelligence and goods for her.”

“Of course, but bringing him down isn’t yet part of the plan. Focus on Gladstone and anyone else you think is a PEIA agent.”

“I heard the two of them refer to a ‘blood sucker’. The context implied a third agent.”

“That isn’t much to go off of, but I can check my files. Anything else?”

“…There’s a few others, non-PEIA, that have substantial bounties on their heads.”

“Then this will be quite the opportunity for you. Enough to retire, I’d say.”

“Are you authorizing me to go off-contract?”

“Focus on the PEIA agents for now. There will be a time for the rest of them. You will make the drop off tomorrow night, just as she ordered, but stand by for any special instructions from me. Focus on Monst3r for now, I’d like to know the man behind the proverbial counter.”

“Understood. Just know that I’m an assassin, not an intelligence specialist.”

“Shalem 11, you have infiltrated an entire company of intelligence specialists. Figure something out.”  

“Understood.” He hung up.

He took a different route back to the headquarters and stopped at an automat along the way. He decided not to think about the ingredients as he ate slowly. Synthetic meat wasn’t bad, _per say,_ but the texture was always off. He wondered if his mother would approve of eating pork, even if it was synthetic pork. Probably not.

_“Bonjour, Chacal,”_ someone said from behind him. Shalem had his disrupter out and nearly took the person to the ground, but they backed off and raised their hands.

“Relax, buddy, it’s me.” Decker raised his hands, smiling, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

The smell of alcohol on Decker’s breath was the only thing stopping Shalem from killing him then and there out of an abundance of caution. And here he was hoping on enjoying his _haram_ sandwich in peace, spiritual issues be damned.

“You didn’t.” Shalem frowned. His mind raced with possibilities. If Decker had followed him and heard him talking, he simply had to die before word got back to Invisible. Decker being dead would also raise eyebrows, even if Shalem’s alibi was airtight (it wouldn’t be).

Then again, maybe he was just back from a night drinking and getting food to help sleep it off.

The last option was too good to be true.

“You’re a little classy for a place like this.” Decker remarked, grabbing coffee from an automated machine and a sandwich from another.

“I couldn’t sleep.” Shalem thought about how he could get Decker to reveal whether or not he overheard his conversation. How much alcohol could this man take before he couldn’t be trusted as a source? Killing him had its own problems; best to make sure.

“Heh, it’s always tough to sleep in new places.”

“I don’t have that problem…usually. Where have you been all night?”

“Here and there. Hard to find a place that doesn’t cut their whiskey with antifreeze and still serves me.”

“I take it you found someplace.”

“Yeah, little hole-in-the-wall, think it was called the Surly Wench Pub. Hard to remember.”

Shalem raised an eyebrow, “Wouldn’t you be able to tell a drink was spiked with antifreeze by looking at it?”

He made a mental note to drop by the bar.

Decker laughed unpleasantly, “Antifreeze isn’t naturally green; it’s dyed that way. And it’s naturally sweet, too.”

“…Good to know.”

“Planning on bumping me off?”

“If I have to.”

Decker laughed again, “Heard that one before.”

Shalem began to seriously wonder what Central saw in this man, “How did you get recruited into Invisible?”

“I’m not drunk enough to tell that story.”

“Fair enough.”  

“How about you?”

“I’m also not drunk enough to tell that story.”

Decker smiled lopsidedly, “Fair enough.”

* * *

 

The handoff was scheduled at the Mauerpark, one of the few remaining green places left in any corporate-controlled area.

“Huh, don’t get to see grass that often.” Decker remarked, crouched behind a stone berm.

“Don’t get too excited,” Dr. Pedler replied, “this grass is fake.”

He kicked at the ground, bringing up black plastic pellets and bits of fake grass.

“The trees aren’t real, either.” Internationale added, “When was the last time anybody saw real trees?”

“I saw some a couple years back; think they were cypress or something.” Decker said, “Sometimes, you find them out in the badlands where the radiation’s died down a bit and nature starts reclaiming stuff. Found a few out in an outpost. Entire overgrown ghost town. Most of the buildings were still up, but looks like everyone left in a hurry. Think it was called Tenino or something like that.”

“Tell me you took pictures.”

“Of course. Couldn’t stay long; radiation was a little on the high side for humans, but the wolves didn’t seem to mind.”

“You’ve _seen real wolves?!”_

“Not like the kind you see in old pictures. They look cute and fluffy, sure, but they’ll rip your lungs out _.”_

Shalem, talking on the headset from the roof of a sportpark, “Focus, people.”

He didn’t get far in his search to figure out who Monst3r really was, Decker really had been where he said he had been but the time had given him a window, and it was putting him in a bad mood.

Would Decker had really shown up at the automat if he had been tailing Shalem? He couldn’t be that stupid, could he?

He had Central in his right earpiece, and his other employer in his left. For security purposes, he spoke to one while muting the other.

“Hm. I don’t recognize the robot, but that redhead has a substantial bounty on her head.” His employer remarked.

“Bringing her in now would burn me.”

“And I see where old Schmitt’s _bete noir_ ended up. Fitting.”

“I can’t imagine anyone being afraid of that man,” There was a clue to a mystery he didn’t care about, “Remind me to never drink to excess.”

“Be careful everyone, “Internationale said, “I’m getting that same reading as before…Seven o’clock…now it’s gone….”

“That cyborg in London?”

“I think so….”

“I have you covered,” Shalem assured her.

The Plastech liaison arrived late with two bodyguards. Their white uniforms stood out brightly under the lights to the point they looked unreal. They wore their signature white facemasks to disguise their identity.

Internationale stepped forward with Dr. Pedler directly behind her.  Shalem put the liaison’s face in his crosshairs while Decker readied his cloaking rig and neural disrupter.

The liaison spoke, “Show us the diamond.”

Internationale held it to the light, “Show us the money.”

The liaison opened his briefcase to reveal a small machine busy crunching numbers, “Ten million credits.”

Internationale raised her hand to check the validity of the credits.  

Central cut into their headsets, “Be careful. You know how corporations can be.”

No sooner did she say that did a flash of light burst from the liaison. Dr. Pedler and Internationale fell to the ground, unconscious. The liaison was gone. Decker faded away into darkness, but his footsteps made impressions on the grass as he ran toward the other agents.

Shalem cursed and repositioned himself to take out one of the liaison’s bodyguards. The bodyguard in question had knelt over International. Shalem painted the ground behind the guard and he dropped.

Decker’s footprints vanished as he jumped, kicking the other man off of Dr. Pedler and bringing a disrupter down on his head.

Roughly a dozen Plastech guards uncloaked and raised their weapons, searching.

“Shit!” Decker snapped over the comm system, “Should have known it was a trap.”

He rolled a flashbang toward the security team and tipped his hat down over his eyes as it went off. He drew his pistol and looked around, standing over the two fallen agents.   Wasting no time, he began firing.

Shalem began dispatching the guards one by one, “Nice start to firefight. Not so useless after all.”  

“Sniper!” One of them called out before he was cut down.

Decker grabbed Internationale and dragged her behind the berm, then posted behind it and began returning fire, “Not so good in a direct fight….”

He cursed at himself; Dr. Pedler was much heavier than Internationale and he had to get at least one out of the line of fire. He hoped Dr. Pedler had the sense to stay down if he were conscious.

Shalem’s left earpiece cracked, “Shalem 11.”

“Little busy….”

“Throw the fight.”

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“It is of benefit that Plastech take these three in alive for questioning.”

“I told you from the beginning that I do not play to lose.”

“This will prevent you from being burned. We will find our missing PEIA agents this way; you said yourself that you are not an intelligence operative.”

“I am an assassin with a perfect record. I am not going to tarnish that for mere money.”

“…That pride is going to get you killed one day.”

“So be it.”  Just for emphasis, Shalem eliminated another Plastech guard.

Decker’s head, shoulders, and arms were still exposed as he separated one guard from their shin. He flinched as rounds ricocheted off the stones near his head.

“Damn, that thing is loud.” Internationale adjusted her headset.

“I don’t notice anymore.”

“Why is Dr. P still on the ground?” She asked, peeking over for a second before ducking behind again. Why didn’t she bring a long-range weapon? Even a cooker would have been _some_ help.

“Stay down,” Decker ordered, a second too late, “If I get taken out, I need you as back up.”

“Can you reload that thing?”

“Yeah, but not that fast.”

A guard stepped over Dr. Pedler, trying to get at Decker. Dr. Pedler’s lamp-eyes flashed back on as he grabbed the man around the thigh and threw him to the ground. A single punch to the head and the man was still.

The cyborg drew his custom disrupter, “Something’s wrong.”

Central cut in, “You don’t say….”

Dr. Pedler grabbed a wrist that was aiming for Decker, “I mean, something wrong about the entire mission. Mercer’s diary….”

He twisted the wrist and brought his fist down on an elbow, shattering bone. He slammed that hand into its owner’s face as hard as he could, then stomped toward the next closest person, bringing them down with a haymaker to the chest.

“Focus on staying alive for now. We’ll talk about it in the debriefing.”

“We will survive.” Dr. Pedler cracked two skulls together.

“Reloading!” Decker said as he ducked behind the berm. He tilted his pistol over and shook the empty casings out, making a mental note to recover them later, and began loading a bullet into the cylinder, one by one.

“You _really_ need a more efficient weapon, “Interationale said.

“I’d like to see any modern weapon that can get off six shots in one charge.” Decker spun the cylinder and flicked his wrist, sending it back behind the barrel.  Then he was back on in position.

Shalem’s other employer cut in as Shalem was reloading, “These corpses are coming out of your pay.”

“You’re lucky I don’t drop you after this stunt.” Shalem dropped the last guard just as he came up from behind Dr. Pedler with a neural disrupter.

“I was trying to protect you.”

“Then this is the cost of your arrogance.” He finished the last guard.

Internationale grabbed Decker’s shoulder, “We need to go after that diamond.”

Decker gave her an incredulous look when Central cut in, “No need. I tagged the diamond as a little insurance policy and because I wanted to know where it would end up. New mission: I want to get to the bottom of this. Plastech is trying far too hard to cover up its recovery.”

Shalem hoped his employer couldn’t hear her.

Decker couldn’t help himself, “I told everyone there was something weird about it.”  He popped his head over the berm, “Hey, Dr. P? Did you leave anybody alive?”

Dr. Pedler looked carefully around the bodies surrounding him, “Negative.”

Internationale popped up beside Decker, “We talked about this!”

Dr. Pedler folded his arms, “They were trying to kill me. Perhaps I am oversensitive and I overreacted a bit, but I found that offensive.”

“Nevermind that,” Central said, “Get back to the jet. We’re on a timehack, here.”


End file.
